A Knight Fallen Through Love
by Jenksel
Summary: Jenkins grieves the loss of his only love, Charlene, with some help from Eve.
1. Chapter 1

"Good-bye, Galahad," said Charlene, loudly enough for only him to hear. She looked into his eyes sadly, regretfully, with unspoken apology.

"Good-bye, my love," he responded simply, tenderly, returning her gaze with one full of his own regret and sadness.

They raised their hands but did not touch each other. A brief flash of light, and she was gone, forever.

Jenkins lowered his hands to his sides and turned away from the mirror to face the others. Eve was trying to comfort a distraught Flynn. Cassandra was sniffling, close to breaking down completely, and both Ezekiel and Jacob, fighting back their own tears, moved to console her. Oblivious to everything now except their own grief, no one took notice of the Caretaker as he silently strode past them and out of the room, his face a mask of impassive stoicism.

He walked through the corridors of the Library purposefully, forcing his dazed mind to remain blank. His left cheek burned where she had kissed him.

He entered his rooms and slowly closed the door behind him. After quietly locking it he removed the stole from around his neck and draped it carefully over the bed. He removed his suit coat and his tie and neatly hung them both in the closet.

He unfastened the top few buttons of his shirt as he moved to the armchair and sat down heavily. He was motionless for several minutes as the reality of what just happened fully sank into him.

Only then did he permit himself to reach a hand up to his burning cheek. Only then did he allow himself to feel the awful, crushing pain in his chest, the suffocating knot in his throat. Only then did he allow the tears to well and fall his from his eyes.

Only then did he allow himself to bury his face in hands and sob uncontrollably for his lost love.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

It was several weeks after the final confrontation with Apep before the final inventory and return of the hundreds of artifacts and relics DOSA had stolen was complete. It was just as well as far as Jenkins was concerned. Throwing himself into the work had distracted him from his grief. It seemed to do the same for the Librarians as well, though he would sometimes catch a glance of Cassandra wiping away a tear. Jacob or Ezekiel were usually there to lay a reassuring hand on her arm or to give her a comforting hug. Flynn was still more subdued than usual, but his mood was improving day by day, thanks to Eve. Things were slowly moving back towards normal.

One crisp autumn morning Jenkins walked into the Annex's workroom, stirring a hot cup of tea as he went. Approaching his somewhat untidy work area, he was surprised to find a package wrapped in shimmering gold paper perched on his desk. Looking around the room, he saw that there were similarly-wrapped packages of different colors scattered about, one for each Librarian and Colonel Baird. Setting down the cup of tea, he picked up the rectangular parcel. The attached tag bore the seal of the Library and the word "Galahad", nothing more. The elderly Caretaker's heart turned to lead as he realized that it was from Charlene. The Library was finally settling her estate by delivering the items she had bequeathed to them.

After taking a moment to collect himself, Jenkins carefully removed the beautiful wrapping. Inside, swaddled within a thick layer of delicate gold tissue paper, he found another box, roughly the size o inch file card. It was about an inch thick, delicately made from ivory in the shape of a book and studded with precious stones. Of Frankish origin, the 'cover' was exquisitely carved with a depiction of a noblewoman being serenaded by a knight, the pair surrounded by a lush garden of jeweled birds, flowers and fruit trees. It was over 1,000 years old and a priceless work of art. Astonished by the opulent gift, the Caretaker grasped the edges with his long fingers and gently removed the lid.

Nestled inside, beneath a heavy, cream-colored envelope, was a real book, a thin, hand-bound volume of azure Moroccan leather. The cover was embossed with an outline in gold of flowering vines.

Laying the box and the envelope next his now-forgotten cup of tea, he gingerly opened the book. It contained only 50 or so pages of plain, handwritten text. It was poetry. Courtly poetry. Jenkins shook his head in disbelief. It was the kind of mawkish drivel that was de rigueur in the days long past when every young knight worth his salt was expected to pledge his love to a fair lady—ideally a woman who was his social better and married to another man. It was believed that the striving to prove himself worthy of the love and affection of this unobtainable lady—via deeds of bravery and outlandish acts of chivalry performed in her name and in her honor—would make the man a better knight. For most knights, however, such a pursuit was little more than a fashionable game and a social convention.

But Galahad—reckless, naive, brash Galahad—had fallen truly in love with Charlene, passionately and completely. So much so that, to her horror and even some embarrassment, he had pledged his heart to her, swearing to love no one else for all eternity.

Poor Charlene, Jenkins reflected as he perused the poems, shaking his head at the memory of his younger self. I must have been such a ridiculous moon-calf in her eyes! How was she ever able to tolerate me so patiently?

He was surprised to discover that she possessed such a volume. In later years she had always disdained and mocked the syrupy verses demanded by courtly love poetry.

Suddenly his mouth fell open in shock and he almost dropped the small book. These poems on the small sheets of parchment in front of him were his own words, written in his own hand!

Jenkins took a deep, ragged breath and tried to crush his rising emotions as he flipped through the rest of the book. He was stunned to see that Charlene had kept every one of the outlandish poems he had written to her so many centuries ago. All this time he thought she had surely gotten rid of the foolish things long ago. But here they were—she had had them bound into this small book and had this precious box made to keep it in. Had she truly treasured them so much? Could she truly have treasured them because he had written them just for her? Jenkins felt confused and lightheaded as he tried to take it in.

His eyes fell on the envelope. He snatched it up with trembling fingers and tore it open. Inside was a single card. He immediately recognized Charlene's tight, business-like hand.

Galahad—I'm sorry that I couldn't love you in the way you wished me to, but never doubt for an instant that I HAVE always loved you, and I always will. Charlene

The old knight's vision grew blurry as the now familiar, painful lump formed in his throat again.

He heard several cheery voices and footsteps approaching the Annex workroom from the corridor as the Librarians and Eve Baird arrived for the day's work. Jenkins quickly stuffed the card, box and book into his coat pocket while sweeping the wrapping papers into a desk drawer. He roughly wiped away the threatening tears with his coat sleeve just as the Librarians and their Guardian bounded into the room. He stood and pulled himself to his full height, hurriedly adopting a careless pose beside his desk. He caught the sharp eye of Colonel Baird raking him suspiciously; Jenkins plastered a smile on his face as he wished them all a good morning.

"Oooooo!" Cassandra squealed as she discovered the beautiful deep mauve-wrapped box on her work desk. "Someone left me a present! Was it you, Mr. Jenkins?"

The others then noticed their own packages, and puzzled questions began to flow.

"No, they are not from me," Jenkins informed the group blandly. "They are from Charlene. They're your inheritance from her. The Library delivered them last night, apparently. They were all here when I arrived this morning."

The light mood dimmed noticeably at the mention of Charlene. Baird and the others exchanged uncomfortable glances as they each regarded their unexpected gifts.

"Well, I'll make some tea, then, shall I?" Jenkins announced brightly, and headed for the kitchen.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The elderly Caretaker busied himself with preparing the tea things: Tray, cups, saucers, spoons, creamer and sugar bowl. He next prepared the teapot and the tea leaves as the kettle heated on the stove. The familiar movements helped to calm and to distract him from thinking about Charlene.

A few minutes later, Eve abruptly entered the kitchen and stood across the counter from the tall man. "Jenkins! Quick question."

Jenkins straightened and turned to give her his full attention. "Of course, Colonel, how may I help you?" he asked, his face neutral, his tone professional.

Eve looked him square in the eye. "What's wrong?"

He blinked owlishly at the unexpected question. "Wrong? I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean."

"Bullshit," she said simply.

"I beg your pardon?" he responded, taken somewhat aback as much by the profanity as by her abruptness.

Baird raised a hand and began to tick off fingers as she spoke.

"There's a cold, untouched cup of tea on your desk that wasn't there last night. There's no package from Charlene on your desk. I would swear on a stack of Bibles that I just saw you wiping your eyes as we came in this morning. And right now you're white as a sheet and desperately wishing I would just go the hell away and leave you alone."

Her voice softened slightly as she leaned on the countertop towards him. "Ergo—What's wrong, Jenkins? Talk to me."

Jenkins gave her a perfunctory smile, and his voice was flat. "I appreciate your concern, Colonel, but I assure you that I'm fine. Nothing is wrong." He dismissed her by turning to fiddle busily with the tea tray again.

Eve knew what was troubling him was related to Charlene, and in typical Jenkins fashion, he was trying to shut her down and shut her out as quickly as he could. Baird sighed inwardly. Why did Jenkins always have to be such a tough, stubborn, crotchety old nut to crack?

"Jenkins," she began slowly. "Do you remember that little pep talk you gave me a while back? About how it's my job as the Guardian to protect the souls of the Librarians?"

"Of course," he replied. He turned to look pointedly at her. "But do I really need to remind you, Colonel, that I am NOT a Librarian?"

Baird steadfastly returned his gaze, uncowed. "You're close enough for me, Jenkins."

The Caretaker gave her a tiny, paternalistic smile before he returned to rearranging the tea tray.

Fine, Baird thought as she mentally rolled up her sleeves. You wanna dance, old man, then let's go.

"Jenkins, I heard what you said to Charlene that last day, just before she...left. We all did. We all know how you felt about her. About the promise you made to her."

A teaspoon slipped from the Caretaker's hand and clattered onto the kitchen floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the silence of the room. Eve saw a look of panic and humiliation flash across the older man's face, and then it was gone. He pulled his imposing frame up to its full height and squared his shoulders. His face was hard now, his slitted eyes dark and angry.

"Eavesdropping is unworthy of you, Colonel," he rumbled menacingly.

Eve shook her head slightly in denial, her blue eyes never leaving his. "No, we never meant to eavesdrop, Jenkins, I swear. It was just...bad timing. That's all." Her sharp soldier's eye caught the faintest hint of softening in the man's expression, and she pressed her advantage.

She reached out and gently laid her hand on top of his. "I know you miss Charlene."

She felt him flinch slightly at that, but he said nothing. Eve squeezed his hand tightly.

"Who takes care of you, Jenkins?"

He was confused momentarily by the abrupt change of topic. "I beg your pardon, Colonel?"

"Who takes care of the Caretaker, Jenkins?" she asked, her voice slightly urgent. "Who takes care of you when YOU need caretaking? You insist on doing and doing and doing for others, for US, but you refuse to let us 'do' for you. So who's shoulder do you cry on when you need to?"

Jenkins pulled his hand from hers and fussed with the cufflink on that sleeve. "Well, first of all, Colonel Baird, I don't cry. Second, the Library... " he began.

"Is not a human being," she cut him off sharply. "The Library can do many wonderful things, Jenkins, don't get me wrong. But it can't provide everything that a human being needs—not even immortal human beings."

Especially immortal human beings. The thought came to him bitterly, unbidden.

Baird reached across the countertop and took his large hand again in her own.

"Believe it or not, we all care about you, Jenkins," she said softly, gently. "We all love you. You're a member of this family, too, just as much as the rest of us. Maybe that's hard for you to accept after being alone for so long out here by yourself, but it's still true. And we hate to see you hurting so much over something and trying to carry it alone. And I can tell that right now that your very soul is hurting."

She squeezed his hand tightly, pleadingly. "You're not alone anymore, Jenkins. You don't have to carry anything by yourself ever again. Please—one soldier to another—at least let ME help you carry this."

The tall man inhaled deeply and let his breath out slowly before giving the woman opposite him a wry look. "You're really going to play 'the soldier card', Colonel Baird?"

"Every chance I get," she said simply. She gave his hand one final squeeze. "So—what do you say?"

He sat motionless for a few moments, considering. At last, with a soft, short sigh, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the box. He slid it across the counter to Eve just as the kettle began to sing. Grateful for the distraction, he turned to tend to the teapot.

Eve gasped at the sight of the stunning box and its contents. As she read the card, her heart ached for the old Caretaker as she realized the full magnitude of the grief he had been bearing in silence.

"Jenkins, I'm so sorry," she began sadly, laying the card aside. "We've each been so wrapped up in our own grief over Charlene—I've been so worried about Flynn and the others. I never really stopped to think about what you've lost..." An image flashed through Eve's mind, of herself desperately begging Flynn to not sacrifice himself with the Eye of Ra. To not leave her, alone. An image of herself trying to get through the rest of her days without the love of her life...

He waved his hand, as if brushing away a fly. "It's perfectly understandable, Colonel. There's no need to apologize. I don't ever expect you to read my mind. Only squeaky wheels get the grease, after all."

She started to protest his dismissiveness, but he wouldn't listen. Giving up on that for now, Eve picked up the small book and began thumbing through it.

"What is this?" she asked, hoping to crack that thick shell of his just a little bit more. "I can't read a word of any of it."

Jenkins paused only a moment before telling her the truth. He suddenly felt very old and stupid. And so very tired. He turned his eyes to a speck on the countertop and kept them fixed there.

"The language is Latin," he said detachedly. "It is a book of poems that I wrote for Charlene, when I was a very young, very foolish knight." He paused again, suddenly embarrassed, and shifted his gaze to the kitchen floor. He forced himself to reveal the rest. "Love poems."

Eve looked down at the book again. She bit her lip to hide the small smile that involuntarily came to her as she imagined fearsome, stoic old Jenkins as a love-sick young man, holed up in a room late at night, scribbling mushy love poems by candlelight to his lady fair. It was hard to believe he could ever have been that kind of a man.

But the silly image evaporated when she looked up again and saw the utter wretchedness in the old knight's eyes. Impulsively she opened the book to a random page and held it out to him.

"Read this to me."

Startled by the request, he hastily demurred, recoiling from the proffered book as though it was poisonous. "Oh, no. No, no—I couldn't, Colonel...It's really very bad poetry, as I recall. You wouldn't enjoy it at all."

"Charlene obviously didn't think that," Eve responded kindly. "Please, Jenkins. Just one." She winked conspiratorially. "One soldier to another."

That coaxed the corners of his mouth into a tiny smile. He took the book from her hands, pulled his glasses from his coat pocket and put them on as he walked to the kitchen table and sat down. Taking a deep breath and clearing his throat, he began to read.

"My heart trembles fearfully,

When I think of my love of her;

It lets me not act sensibly,

It leaps like a stag from its place.

"It lets me not put on my attire,

Nor bind my sword around me;

My head is even not anointed,

And I may put no wine to my lips.

"'Do not wait, go there!' cries it to me,

As often as I think of her.

O my heart, do not act so stupidly,

Why do you play the fool?

Sit still, my Lady comes to us,

Adorned in beauty and grace.

"Let not the people say of me:

'A knight fallen through love!'

Be steady when you think of her,

O my heart, do not tremble so!"

By the time he reached the last verse, his usually firm, deep voice was hoarse and shaking, and his eyes were full of tears. He quickly closed the book and set in on the table as one hand rose to cover his mouth.

Eve had a lump in her own throat, tears in her own eyes. "Jenkins, that was beautiful."

"She was a beautiful woman," he whispered. "I loved her so much..." Ashamed at not being able to keep his tears from falling any longer, Jenkins quickly turned his body away from Eve in a futile attempt to hide them from the Guardian.

Eve quickly stood and went to him where he sat, and without saying anything she put her arms around his head and shoulders drew him towards her, cradling him.

At her touch all resistance in Jenkins seemed to crumble. He felt a desperate, overpowering hunger to be held, to be consoled. He blindly wrapped his own long arms around Eve and, burying his face in her stomach, wept like a child. Centuries' worth of pain, grief and frustration poured out of him in great wracking sobs. It frightened Eve to see the seemingly unshakeable old knight so vulnerable and frail, but she held on to him.

She said nothing. She had plenty of experience consoling fellow soldiers and their families to know that sometimes words did more harm than good. Sometimes all that was wanted was a sympathetic presence. And so she silently held the mourning man, gently rocking him and stroking his hair as he wept, sharing the terrible burden of his grief.

Eve estimated that it was a good half hour or so before the Caretaker had cried himself out enough to regain control of his emotions. He pulled himself gently from her arms and reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. He wiped his face as he coughed and panted for breath. As soon as he could speak again he sheepishly began to apologize profusely for his outburst.

"I am very sorry, Colonel Baird, I should not have subjected you to that. Please, forgive me," he said, sniffling. He caught sight of the huge wet patch on the raw silk of Eve's shirt. "OH! Oh, God—Look what I've done to your shirt! I am so very sorry, Colonel—If you will allow me to pay for that..."

Eve smiled at the mortified Caretaker's discomfiture. "It's alright, Jenkins, really, don't worry about it. Believe me, I've had MUCH worse stuff on my shirts than a few tears and some snot."

She took his face in her hands and turned it gently so she could look into his swollen eyes. "You can cry on my shoulder anytime, Jenkins. Or even just talk. Day or night. I'm here for you, one soldier to another. You hear me?"

Jenkins had fully regained his composure by then. He smiled weakly and nodded, unable to meet her gaze. "Yes, Colonel, I hear you, loud and clear." He forced his dark eyes to look deeply into her own. "Thank you, Eve."

He stood up then, forcing her to release him and to step back. He began fussing with his clothes—straightening his bow tie, smoothing his coat. He folded the damp handkerchief and returned it to his trousers pocket. He cleared his throat.

"About the others..." he began tentatively.

Baird threw her hands up in a gesture of warding. "No worries, Jenkins. I consider this all strictly classified information until you say otherwise." She peered up at him closely, still concerned. "How do you feel now?"

He raised his head for a moment as though considering how to answer. He then met her eyes with his and gave her small, reassuring nod. "I'm fine now, Colonel. Thank you."

Eve turned her head slightly, narrowing her sharp blue eyes in askance. Jenkins chuckled, placed one hand on his chest and gave her a slight bow.

"I promise. One soldier to another."

Eve nodded, satisfied that he was telling the truth. "OK, then. Good pep talk," she said teasingly as she lightly mock-punched his upper arm.

"Indeed." Jenkins smiled shyly as he gathered up the book, the box and the card and them in the safety of his breast pocket. He then turned his attention to the teapot on the counter. "Oh! And now, look at this! I let myself get distracted and now this tea has steeped far too long—AND it's gone cold. It's almost noon and I have yet to have even a single cup of tea! Now I have to make a fresh pot…"

As Jenkins muttered around the kitchen, Eve turned and quietly left, leaving the Caretaker to his tea.


End file.
